


Tachypsychia

by itsnotlove



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: :'), Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, adrenaline rush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsnotlove/pseuds/itsnotlove
Summary: For the first time in a long time, Egor realises he has something to lose.





	Tachypsychia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katakurii](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=katakurii).



> Happy (earlyish) Birthday, Mizar! <3

   Pink blossoms caught on the warm breeze cascade through the narrow street. They fall slowly—as if they were travelling through water rather than the sweet scented air—and dance the thin rays of the setting sun. Somewhere in the background there’s the steady hum of traffic and the indistinct laughter and mumblings of high school students. It’s picturesque to the point of surrealism, and Egor’s mind allows him the briefest of seconds to admire it as he spins himself around.

   He’d felt the shot go off before he’d heard it—years of combat having mixed with his sharpened instincts—and had already known just where the bullet would be headed. Everything had slowed to the point of absurdity, and he understood his mind was working faster due to the obscene amount of adrenaline surging through his veins. It wasn’t a regular occurrence (really, adrenaline only made people sloppy, and precision was absolutely  _ key  _ in a battle), which meant he was ~~afraid~~ panicking.

   That thought in and of itself horrified him. There was no need to panic. Everything was standard, and there was nothing abnormal happening. They might have been attacked, and it might have been a surprise, but their assailants weren’t professionals. 

   But even an amateur could get lucky, and it would be ridiculous to think otherwise. 

   It felt as though several minutes had passed by the time Egor had finally turned. A poorly formed fist was gliding through the air toward his face as if to greet him, but it would be easily blocked and countered. 

    As Egor began to step to the side, he realised he could no longer feel his limbs. Another side effect of the adrenaline, but something which would (unfortunately) wear off once things were finished. His eyes were still travelling to the left in search of his accomplice—the one the assailants were after—and he felt his heart stop.

   There, in the air, a bullet the size of a locust. Of course, it likely wasn’t as large as his brain was processing—another side effect of the adrenaline—but it was headed exactly where he’d thought it would. His mouth opened, but it was a slow and torturous process. Velcro seemed to line his mouth and it felt as though sawdust littered his tongue. Something primal, almost animalistic, bubbled in his throat but no sound spilled out from his cracking lips. 

   While Egor wished he could move faster or at least shout out something in warning, he hoped against hope time would not speed itself up. His weight shifted onto his left foot as his forearm finally made contact with the outer elbow of the man attempting to punch him. The bullet had moved closer to its target now, and it would be nearly impossible to move out of its path. 

   It would only be seconds until it tore through the gaudy suit and penetrated the base of Akabayashi’s spine. Less than a minute until he hit the ground. Less than ten minutes before he bled out. If he were lucky, he might find himself confined to a wheelchair, but Egor doubted Akabayashi would find himself to be very lucky at all should such a thing happen.

   All because of a lucky shot fired when Egor broke the gunman’s hand. 

   All because he still wasn’t used to fighting with a partner.

   All because he’d never felt a great need to ensure the survival of anyone he fought alongside.

   All because he’d forgotten he finally had something to lose.

   The dreary brown of Akabayashi’s suit flowed like a zephyr behind him as he moved. Even with the deceleration enforced by Egor’s brain, he seemed to glide through the street like a hummingbird. It was fascinating to watch as the blows he returned to the two men attacking him, showering blood and mucus and teeth through the air like fireworks exploding in slow motion. 

   His fist—calloused, Egor knew, with heavy wrinkles etched into the palms—cut through the air as his foot thrust into a knee. There was a lopsided smirk on his lips, only  _ just  _ visible with the turn of his head, and an aura of  _ power  _ surrounding him. It was rare for him to fight, but he was truly in his element when he did. 

   He couldn’t be downed by some foolish child with a gun too large for their hand. It wouldn’t be a fitting end for such a beautiful terror. 

   Something heavy and liquid swelled in Egor’s throat, boiling and burning until it finally pushed out a strange sort of cry. Akabayashi’s lips twitched at the edges in recognition, and Egor’s stomach dropped as time suddenly sped. 

   He wanted just one more second to watch before he fell.

   Just one more moment of quiet admiration.

   It wasn’t  _ fair. _

   There was a flurry of movement too fast for Egor’s eyes to follow. He felt distracted—light-headed with the sudden change in speed, and distracted by the stained blossoms hitting the road. The block he’d used to protect himself broke through his assailant’s arm with a mighty crack, but he refused to spare so much as a glance to see if he’d need to launch another counter attack.

   If Akabayashi fell here, today, now... his fall would need to be witnessed by someone. The only tragedy worse than his death would be for it to be a quiet, lonely death somewhere in the background. A man of his skill, experience, and honour should have a glorious death—or at the very least, a death with an audience who respected him.

   A fearsome cry echoed through the narrow street, eerily reminiscent of a pig being slaughtered. There was little fanfare after the bullet struck, with no sprays of blood or gore. It was so anticlimactic and impersonal it felt as though it mustn’t have been real. Egor’s eyes locked with Akabayashi’s, and he couldn’t help but notice the iridescent glow of red move behind his dark lenses.

   A trick of the light—it must have been the last rays of the day playing against the tinted lenses of his sunglasses.

   Somehow, in the few seconds that had passed, Akabayashi had managed to turn. One now-limp attacker was pinned to his chest as a shield, whilst the other was on sprawled awkwardly on the street.

   Akabayashi winked—yes, definitely a wink and not a blink—as his smile became more smug and prideful. He dropped the body he’d been holding to the ground and dusted his immaculate suit as if for show.

   “You all right, kid?” He drawled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

   Egor fixed his expression and gave a curt nod.

   “I’d be better if you refrained from calling me that. We’re almost the same age.”

   “Whatever you say, kid.”


End file.
